Confessions of a Winchester
by starzskymoon
Summary: Dude… I seriously always knew your latex fetish would help you find a job someday.


**Confessions of a Winchester.**

**By Liz **

**Tag: Dude… I seriously always knew your latex fetish would help you find a job someday.**

**Disclaimer: While Sam and I were out for coffee he told me this lil epic. Can't really get royalties on a retelling of a friend's life right? **

Special Thanks: So i have never written a story with a beta before... And Dana (AnickaMarie) read this over for me even though i sent it like 6 times with more additions. This would have been boohackie without her. So thank you, Darling... and thanks for putting up with me and not smiting me. :)

* * *

"I worked as a lab technician for two summers studying ebola."

Confounded Dean only could utter, "What?" Dean knew Sam was undeniably smart, but he had never excelled in science the way he did in history, English, philosophy and of course, hunting research. Sam devoured books on government, hell he even read fiction that was historically based, but he rarely delved into science material unless it was required of them. Dean smirked; Sammy just added another notch to his geek boy belt.

"How did you manage to land that gig?"

"Jess' m-m-mom worked in a r-r-research hospital, and she put in a good word for me and well, basically forced me to apply. I think they wanted me to play d-d-doctor to Jess' nurse… just like them." Sam's stuttering quieted off with the memory of those times.

With that Dean pulled Sam in closer and zipped his jacket up tighter as a gust of wind blew dancing wisps of snow into the tiny stone cut out where they were sheltered.

_This was ridiculous. This hunt was Bobby's excuse for them to come join him so they could celebrate Christmas together… though it be in the dreary woods of Pennsylvania. _

_It was a squonk, an ugly warty creature that was scaring some pathetic hikers. The thing was not dangerous and disposal was as simple as threatening the critter and it would dissolve itself into a pool of tears and bubbles. Bobby could have done this hunt blindfolded in a Rascal scooter after a debilitating stroke. _

_But incidentally, Sam and Dean found themselves trekking through the snow to "help" find this "abominable" creature._

"Dude… I seriously always knew your latex fetish would help land you a job someday." Dean finally retorted.

"Je-e-erk," Sam softly slurred out.

"Bitch."

_Dean felt his heart pounding as he weaved throughout the trees. He stumbled into a clearing and knew he was screwed; his legs were no match for the speed of the long legged freak chasing him. _

_Breathing harshly he whipped around a tree, primed and ready to strike._ _All he needed was a little bit of time if he was going to beat out his attacker._

_Hearing the crunch of snow Dean attacked._

_It was a simple diversionary tactic, a technique that would have made John Winchester proud. _

_He grabbed Sam's hat and proceeded to throw it, buying himself a little much needed time, because Sam was just too damn fast at snow ball manufacturing. Dean quickly made his ammo and out of the corner of his eye saw the mussy black spikes bob away. He finished his bullet and looked up in time to see a smirking recapped Sam and then a perfectly arced snowball heading directly towards his head. With a thump, it hit Dean squarely on the forehead and proceeded to turn to powder onto his jacket. Dean laughingly cleaned the snow out of his eyes and was leaning down to make a new snow ball when he realized… his brother… was gone. _

"_Sam?!"_

_He raced to the spot he had last seen his brother, and for the first time heard the groaning of the ice. Crap. Dean had tossed his brother's beanie onto a frozen lake._

_Dean skid stomach first in attempt not to join his brother in the frigid waters._

"_D-e-an"_

"_Yeah… Sammy, Hold on I got ya. Impromptu arctic bath? Come on, Sam, those are never smart." Worry-laced sarcasm flowed to keep his brother awake._

_Finally he positioned himself close enough to Sam's armpits and stablized himself to pull his brother out… then he placed his hands in pure acid._

_He remembers the first time he went swimming with his parents. Lone Star Lake. With swimmies on that looked like fierce sharks and holding his mothers hand he felt brave enough to face anything. Then his feet hit the ice that stole his breath away and sent the agonizing spikes of pain; he couldn't brave the water for hours…_

_That was nothing compared to this. _

_Dean finally extracted his brother's sodden, shivering, incoherent mass and dragged him over the cerulean tundra to find a semblance of shelter. Knowing he couldn't drag Sam the mile alone he contacted Bobby over the walkie-talkie reporting their predicament and then all he could do was play the waiting game. _

"I took a college course." Dean admitted as he nudged his shivering brother.

Sam startled at the new information. "What! No w-a-a-y. What class… When?" Sam breathlessly whispered into Dean's coat.

"It was the second year after you left. Dad and I spent a long time in Kentucky and for some reason I decided to take Latin at a community college the second half of the year… I got an A."

"Y-o-ou col-lege, nerd."

"Shutup."

Sam's shivering had turned into a muted shaking, and even Dean noted the loss of feeling in his extremities as he rubbed Sam's arms. _Where the hell was Bobby with those reinforcements?_

"Well….I… b-b-rooke your w…." and with that Sam slipped unconscious.

"Sam? Sammy!"

"Damnit, Sam. Wake up. Dude, you are so not getting off that easy."

Dean gently_ desperately _shook his brother. _Sammy… Please_.

Minutes, Days, Months, passed and finally the walkie-talkie crackled back to life and a garbled Bobby echoed in the stone lean-to.

"Sam? Dean? I'm with the rescue crew… where are you boys?"

With frigid digits Dean depressed the talk switch, but his vocal cords could only conjure up muted groans.

"Dean? Sammy… Please respond." Bobby's curt response bounced off the shelter. The tension leaking out in those few words spoke volumes about his concern.

The cold had sapped Dean's ability to speak coherently, and any attempt to respond loudly into the talkie was futile. Instead, he dragged the flair gun to the mouth of the cutout and shot off two flairs. Crawling back to the unconscious form of his brother he snuggled up beside him all the while whispering reassuring words that Bobby would rescue them soon. Unconsciousness finally claimed him, and he knew someone else could worry now.

* * *

He was floating in a cocoon of warmth and joy. He must be dead…heaven? And then with stark clarity the pain of reality and scent of 409 hit him like a 2x4. Oh gosh…heaven sucks."

"Ugh…" His eyes were superglued shut. And his whole body was a symphony of ache.

"Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey." floated to him from the other side of the curtain, and after a few grunts a wheelchair containing his worn but simpering big brother appeared.

"Dude you look like death, I highly doubt you're supposed to be out of bed."

"Look in a mirror lately lil brother?"

"They gave me the broken telly… again. Every time you get the awesome beds with cable, HBO, and porn; and I'm stuck with the telly that only receives Martha Stewart with wibbles across the screen. Every time, SAM.

So if I hurt myself getting out of bed… I'm suing them for inability to provide entertainment."

"Sounds like the wrong Winchester wanted to become a lawyer."

"No way, man. You look better in those monkey suits."

"You always did look like an overgrown awkward middle schooler." Sam stated eyes twinkling.

"Oh… Shut it."

"What did you break of mine?" Dean quickly added.

"What?" Sam was taken aback and clearly confused.

"Out there in the arctic… you started to say you broke something of mine. I need to know, Sammy, so I can tell to what extent I'm gonna have to kick your butt."

Sam quietly sat puzzled, and then it dawned on him what Dean was referring to.

"Your walkman, you know the one you use now for an EMF meter. It was me who broke it."

"What? You told me Mr. Peters' dog got into our apartment and chewed it up."

With that, Sam laughed, "And the fact you believed that! Mr. Peters had an English toy spaniel. He couldn't get his teeth around it if he tried. And that dog ran into walls, no way could it be smart enough to do a covert op to sneak into your room, open your bin, and chew your walkman."

"Well then how did it happen?" Dean shook his head slightly embarrassed.

"You said I couldn't borrow it, but you were gone on a hunt with dad, chasing your first wendigo, remember? Walking to school by myself was just so boring so I was just gonna use it going to and from school, and I figured there was no way you would be able to find out."

"I was listening to some Boston while riding my bike to school, and I dunno what happened but my tire got caught in a grate and the bike flipped over I landed right on it." Sam confessed.

"You never told me."

"Of couse I didn't. If you knew I wrecked your beloved walkman you woulda killed me."

"No, I mean you never told me you wrecked your bike."

_Dean remembers it now. The hunt. The wendigo. The look in his fathers eyes when Dean had defeated his first monster by himself. He recalled wanting to initially share the hunt's events with his little brother, but becoming livid because Sam hadn't protected his most valuable possession. _

_And then there was Sam's punishment from their dad. 'You let a little dog get into the house Sam? What if it had been a ghost, or a werewolf, or __**the **__demon?' It had cost him 3 miles running in the late spring heat.' All of that happened because Dean had been too selfish to share his walkman and an unavoidable accident._

"Dean, with a broken walkman and a wrecked bike you would have put two and two together."

"Yeah well… Did you get hurt?"

"Just six stitches on my knee, ya know… to add to the collection of scars."

Sam painfully lifted his gown so the top of his right knee was showing, and for the first time Dean noticed a thin line of hardened white skin, evidence of Sam's afternoon introduction with the storm drain.

Other scars were visible on his leg too. Dean saw the scar where a piece of shrapnel had imbedded itself into Sam's leg when he was 15 and they killed a dungflisk. He noted the tiny keloid where Sam's bone broke through the skin after a fall from a tree when they were running from a demon possessed bear.

This was the measure of their lives. They didn't have a house where their mom measured their height on a wall and reveled in how much they grew that year. Each scar was another tally on a tacky flower painted wall. Each time they healed and got stronger was another inch, it was their legacy. This was how Dean defined his life and his heart swelled with love for the kid in the bed next to him.

Dean finally looked up from his patch work brother. Trying to come up with words to confess how much he cared for his brother. _'I love you.' 'You're more important than any piece of hardware.' _The only response was…

"Dude… you are so buying me a new one, and a new Boston tape. That LP was kick ass and you jacked that up too… oh you are so paying me back." Dean stated eyes glistening.

Sam knew his role in this Shakespearean drama, and understood that the unsaid spoke more than any chic-flick moment could encompass. Bypassing the emotion in Dean's voice, Sam responded.

"Fine, but how 'bout I upgrade you to a CD player or an MP3 player."

"Um… hello… don't blaspheme those classics by trying to play them on a CD player." I want a walkman." Dean spit out with utter disdain.

"Haha, Whatever." Sam chuckled.

With that, an exhausted Bobby entered the room and ushered Dean back to his bed with a sharp, "Boy, get your butt back to bed."

As Dean lay there in the muted light breathing in the sterile bleach scent, he thought he heard the soft cadence of Sam's breathing even out into sleep, and then he muttered. "I did eat your chocolate bunny that Easter at Pastor Jims."

"Bastard."

FIN


End file.
